What'll It Be, McGee?
by unilocular
Summary: Tony made a choice; Gibbs thought it was a mistake. Tim is forced to choose a side. Team angst. One shot. Tag to the last half of season 12.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the typos.**

 **Title:** What'll It Be, McGee?  
 **Summary:** Tony made a choice; Gibbs thought it was a mistake. Tim is forced to choose a side with disastrous results. Team angst. One shot. Tag to the last half of season 12.  
 **Rating** : Strong Teen for bad language.  
 **Spoilers/Warnings:** General spoilers up to 12x24. Moderate violence in the first chapter. Adult language.

 **Author's Note:** _Flash fiction isn't as easy as it looks. Yikes. Hope you enjoy my humble attempt at brevity._

 _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

Wednesday afternoons in the bullpen are usually a time for paperwork and off-the-cuff movie references, not Mexican standoffs and pissing matches.

No matter how much Tim McGee doesn't want to watch the mounting confrontation between Jethro Gibbs and Tony DiNozzo, he can't help himself. It's like watching two trains hurdling full-speed at each other while he whistles by the tracks. He thinks TS Eliot might've been wrong about the way the world ends. Because his is about to go out, not with a whimper, but with a big, fucking bang.

Haunting the entrance to the bullpen, Gibbs looks like he just jumped off Ducky's autopsy table. Even though his eyes are hazy and unfocused – thanks to whatever pills he swallowed this morning – the rage still burns.

Its target is none other than the cold and desensitized Tony that slunk back from the desert weeks ago.

Tim thinks their disagreement might have something to do with that half-baked revenge mission Tony disappeared on with Dornegat's deranged mother. For six fucking days (and yes, he counted every last second of them), Tim fumbled around in the role of team leader until Tony showed back up like nothing had happened. They never even talked about that middle of the night phone call where Tony asked for a GPS fix on a cell phone somewhere in no-man's land Iraq and Tim relayed the information without asking questions. Not that Tim didn't want to know, but because that's what partners – _friends –_ do.

Gibbs limps towards Tony's desk, groaning and cursing and his good knee cracking. He keeps his hands pressed against his side though he's afraid that he still might bleed to death. At that moment, Tim understands Gibbs is merely a mortal, fallen and confused just like the rest of them.

Tony catches his boss' gaze and guilt flickers like hope in his eyes.

"You killed that kid, DiNozzo." Accusation weighs Gibbs' voice down like an anchor.

But Tim suspects he might be the only one who's sinking. Sputtering, he reminds himself to breathe. Because there'd be nothing like drowning on dry land as the cause of death on his autopsy report.

"I did what I had to do," Tony replies, casual and calculated.

"You murdered a child." Gritting his teeth, Gibbs shifts his weight. "You killed Luke, DiNozzo. In cold blood."

"Because he pumped you full of lead and left you to die in the street, _boss."_ Tony spits the word like an insult. "Or don't you remember that?"

"Of course, I do." Gibbs flicks his lip between his teeth. "I thought I taught you better than that."

The smirk spreading across Tony's face chills Tim to the bone. "You did. I learned to settle scores from one of the best. But if you want to compare sins, I've got nothing but time."

Rising from his chair, Tony draws himself to his full height. Gibbs blinks slowly as though he can't fathom that the senior field agent would ever – could ever – stand up to him. The unstoppable Tony readies to crash head-on with the insurmountable Gibbs and Tim is stuck on the sidelines.

He scoops up his mouse because he doesn't want their blood all over it after they murder each other right here. He checks his exits, computes how long it'll take him to reach the elevator. Fifteen seconds, if he escapes unseen. If they drag him into the fight, he figures the janitors will have three blood splatters to scrub out of the carpet. Cleaning up a murder scene isn't nearly as easy as they make it look on television.

"I've never killed a kid," Gibbs says, his voice barely a whisper.

Tony half-shrugs. "I had your six just like I was supposed to."

The silence settles around them like the calm before the storm that brews in Gibbs' eyes. Tim desperately tries to blend in with his desk, become a part of the back-drop like the plasma playing ZNN. Of all the times to pull rank to get out of the afternoon coffee run, why did he have to pick today?

"But it's your methods that I don't approve of." When Tony goes to protest, Gibbs shakes his head. "No need for explaining, DiNozzo. You followed your gut. But if I can't trust it, you can't be on my team."

Blinking, Tony reels before he swallows his rage. "I figured as much. We had a good run, Gibbs."

He stoops to flip the lid off a box marked " _Cold Cases."_ It's already half-full with relics from his life at work: DVDs, magazines, his Mighty Mouse stapler, and a lamp shaped like a fish-netted leg that Tim's never seen before. Tony calmly plucks the last few pieces of himself out of his desk.

Tim watches his partner stride, box in hand, towards the director's office without looking back. Tony takes the steps two at a time until he vanishes.

The quiet grunt in front of his desk snaps Tim back to reality. Gibbs glares him down as though Tim is the reason for all the trouble, the source of all their problems.

Like the whole fucking fiasco is all his fucking fault.

And maybe it is, in a way, because Tim was the one to give Tony Luke's location. Even though he suspected what was about to happen, Tim still did it anyway. Because he was following the rules, being a good partner, doing exactly what he thought Gibbs would have wanted.

"What'll it be, McGee?" Gibbs growls.

Pressing his lips together, Tim's cheeks pale. The moment stretches into forever and he feels like he has all the time in the world to weigh his options, ponder his success rates between staying on the team and following Tony into the great unknown. He always knew his career would stare death in the face one day, but never expected The Reaper to look so much like Leroy Jethro fucking Gibbs.

Tim's eyes flick back to where he last saw Tony.

Then just as quickly as it stopped, the world starts to trudge along again.

And for the first time in his life, Tim just reacts. He follows his gut without letting his meticulous and overworked brain get in the way. The smile he offers Gibbs is thin, at best. An apology wrapped with a farewell because the price of Gibbs' absolution is far too high.

"I'm sorry, boss."

Something that might be a smile works its way across Gibbs' face as Tim chucks Rule Six right out the window. Shaking his head, Gibbs limps for the elevator and Tim hustles to catch up to his partner. He's just at the base of the stairs when Tony hits the door to the director's office.

"Hey, Tony! I'm on your six!"

To his own ears, Tim's voice sounds like one big, fucking bang.


End file.
